Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The relentless heat of midday seeped through the stone walls of Camelot, washing the floor of the royal chambers in a dim, amber glow. Arthur Pendragon sat with a furrowed brow, buried beneath maps and tax parchments spread across the massive oak desk before him. From the far corner of the room, the rhythmic swish-swish of a broom echoed.

Merlin, slouching as usual, was ostensibly cleaning—though his sharp tongue was moving far faster than his broom.

"So, what you’re saying, Arthur," Merlin said, leaning against the broom and resting his chin on the wooden handle, "is that just because he has a giant bear on his crest, you're actually going to listen to that arrogant Lord Godwin drone on about his endless hunting stories. And in this heat?"

Arthur slammed his quill back into the inkwell with a flash of irritation. He slowly raised his blue eyes, fixing his gaze upon his servant. "It is not a 'bear' crest, Merlin. It is the centuries-old emblem of the House of Cornwall. And no, I am not going for the sheer fantasy of it. This is how political alliances work. What do you possibly know about ruling a kingdom?"

"Right, I know nothing," Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "I only know how to clean up the disastrous armor you leave behind and mock you so you don't faint from sheer boredom. Hardly a fair distribution of labor, if you ask me."

Arthur took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. He picked up the heavy velvet invitation, embroidered in black and gold, which lay at the edge of the desk. The deep crimson of the wax seal seemed to carry the sinister scent of court intrigue. "This invitation came directly from Lord Godwin’s inner council. To refuse would be an insult to the realm. So, instead of complaining, you'd better fetch my clothes, because I leave tonight."

Merlin set the broom aside and stepped toward the desk, his curious eyes darting to the parchment. "And where are my clothes? I mean, am I not coming along to pour your wine as usual?"

With a smirk that was both playful and stern, Arthur pressed the invitation firmly against Merlin’s chest. He ran his finger over the gilded gold lettering. "Look what it says here, dollophead. 'Nobility Only.' That jacket you've been wearing for years and your loose tongue won't make it past the gates. You are staying in Camelot tonight. That is an order."

Merlin rolled his eyes, murmuring as he tossed the invitation back onto the desk, "As if I were dying to spend an evening with those stuffy nobles anyway."

"Merlin, stop talking and clean the hearth," Arthur snapped, though his voice held that familiar, hidden warmth.

Grunting, Merlin knelt by the fireplace. He grabbed the iron tongs and began to stoke the ashes. However, his mind was wandering to where Arthur would be going that night, and his grip slipped. As the heavy iron tongs slithered from his hand, a sharp, jagged edge of the forged iron sliced right across the palm of his right hand.

"Shit..." Merlin hissed, immediately pressing his hand against his chest.

Arthur caught the genuine pain in his voice instantly. Before he even realized he had moved from his desk, he was at Merlin’s side within seconds. "What happened? Let me see."

"It’s nothing, just clumsy," Merlin said, trying to hide his hand. But Arthur firmly caught his wrist and forced his palm open.

The wound wasn't fatal, but it was a deep, nasty gash. The skin was torn, and crimson blood had begun to trace a thin line across Merlin's pale skin. Arthur’s brows knitted with worry. He walked over to the cabinet in the corner of the room and fetched one of the healing salves Gaius had left.

"Don't overreact, Arthur, it’s just a scratch," Merlin grumbled, trying to pull away.

"Hold your tongue, Merlin," Arthur said. His voice carried the weight of a command, but his fingers were incredibly gentle as he held Merlin’s hand. As he softly applied the ointment over the wound, his eyes flickered up to Merlin’s face for a brief moment. The distance between them was so small that Merlin could feel the prince’s breath against his skin. "If this hand gets infected, who is going to make my bed? If you won't think of yourself, think of me."

Merlin fell silent against Arthur’s seemingly selfish, yet deeply protective nature. His blue eyes traced Arthur’s golden hair and his intensely focused face. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice softer than usual.

Arthur finished up and stepped back, clearing his throat. "Now, leave the room and rest. I have quite a bit of preparing to do for tonight's gala."

Merlin didn't look back as he left the room, but a single thought consumed his mind: he was not going to leave Arthur Pendragon entirely alone behind those closed doors.

Night fell like a thick shroud of mist over the hidden estate nestled deep within the woods outside Camelot.

Merlin had dressed in a deep navy velvet jacket he’d scavenged from Gaius’s old chests—elegant enough to belong to a nobleman. He wore a silver-inlaid black mask that concealed nearly his entire face. The only uncovered parts were his eyes, which gleamed like blue glass in the darkness. No one could possibly recognize him; nor did he recognize anyone else here.

The moment he slipped through the estate's hidden entrance, a heavy wave of wine, incense, and unbridled lust hit his senses. This was no diplomatic gathering, as Lord Godwin had claimed. This was a sanctuary where nobles, fleeing the rigid moral codes of Camelot, came to indulge their darkest, most selfish fantasies.

Under the dim, ambient lighting of the grand ballroom, half-dressed men and women—their identities safely hidden behind masks—explored each other's touch. Low moans and hushed whispers rose from the velvet chaises against the walls and the shadowy corners of the corridors. Merlin froze in utter shock. "I expected a simple party... This is a full-blown aristocratic scandal," he muttered to himself.

However, Merlin’s slender, upright posture inside the noble jacket and the captivating blue eyes flashing beneath his mask did not escape the seasoned predators in the room.

A elegantly dressed woman approached Merlin, a wine glass swirling in her hand. She licked her lips behind her mask. "Are you alone, mysterious stranger? Wouldn't you like to take off that mask tonight?"

Panicking, Merlin took a sharp step back, his voice trembling. "I... I'm just looking for someone, thank you."

"You can find whatever you're looking for in my chambers," a burly nobleman chimed in from behind, attempting to rest a hand on Merlin’s waist.

Merlin slipped away from the man's grasp, his cheeks burning hot beneath his mask. "No, please don't touch me." He walked quickly into the thick of the crowd, constantly dodging hands, his eyes desperately searching for that golden hair, that commanding stature. Where was Arthur? Was he safe?

Meanwhile, Arthur watched the crowd from one of the upper balconies, viewing the chaos below with a mixture of disgust and internal conflict. He wore a black cloak and a gold mask that completely covered his face. He was nearly thirty years old; his entire life had been spent on battlefields and in council chambers, consistently suppressing his own desires. Sleeping with someone—man or woman—merely for the transient pleasure of the flesh had never been his way. For him, intimacy required the surrender of the soul.

As he looked down at the crowd, a sudden image flashed through his mind, making him flinch. Merlin. He found himself imagining how his blunt, clumsy servant would look under these dim lights, tangled in a bed, and what kind of sounds he would make. His face flushed instantly, and he grew angry with himself. "Get a grip, Arthur," he whispered, tossing back the contents of his goblet. "He is your servant." All he wanted was to escape this repulsive place and return to Camelot. And, of course, back to his foolish servant...

Below, Merlin was being backed into a corner. An insistent, masked lord blocked his path. "Don't be so coy," the man urged, his voice thick with desire. "No one knows who anyone is tonight. I can give you a night you'll never forget. Just come with me."

"I told you, I’m not interested!" Merlin snapped, his voice sharpening. As the man took another step forward, Merlin tried to back away in a panic. However, his foot caught on a massive pile of cushions scattered on the floor. Praying to himself, 'Please don't let that be someone's leg,' he lost his balance completely.

Expecting to hit the hard floor, his back instead collided with something incredibly solid—almost like a wall carved of stone. No, it wasn't a wall. It was the broad, imposing back of a man.

Arthur spun around on pure reflex the moment the body hit his back. Merlin quickly steadied himself and looked up at the man. The persistent lord who had been harassing Merlin took one look at this imposing figure's posture and broad shoulders, grumbled beneath his mask, and melted back into the crowd.

The two of them were left alone in the dim light. Merlin studied the man in the gold mask. His posture was flawless. 'Probably a knight,' Merlin thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Arthur, on the other hand, was inspecting the nobleman in the navy jacket. The mask hid his face, but that rigid stance, that slightly trembling chin... and most importantly, as the man raised his right hand to adjust his jacket, a fresh, deep cut caught the glint of the light.

The breath caught in Arthur’s throat. He nearly cried out "Merlin..." but bit his tongue just in time.

His servant. His idiotic, stubborn servant hadn't listened to him and had followed him all the way here. A flash of anger flared within Arthur, but within seconds, that anger was utterly consumed by the burning, selfish desire that saturated the very air of the manor. Merlin hadn't recognized him. Thanks to the mask and the way he could alter his voice, Merlin had no idea this man was his king.

"My apologies, pure clumsiness," Merlin said with a slight bow, turning to slip back into the crowd. He needed to keep searching for Arthur.

But Arthur felt the rational, logical part of his brain shut down entirely. The profound love he had harbored deep inside for years—a love he had never dared confess even to himself—and that fiercely selfish instinct of possessiveness suddenly broke free from their chains. He reached out and firmly caught Merlin’s left wrist.

Merlin froze. The hand on his wrist was warm and incredibly powerful. "Is... is there a problem?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. His face flushed with the heat of the incense, the aphrodisiac scents in the air, and the sudden, electric contact of this masked stranger.

Arthur cleared his throat, dropping his voice to a pitch far lower, raspy, and more gravelly than his usual tone. "A nobleman alone in a crowd like this is in danger."

"I’m not alone, I’m looking for someone," Merlin said, making no effort to pull his wrist away. The aura of the man before him seemed to hold him spellbound.

Deep down, Arthur thought, 'Yes, and the person you are looking for is me.'

Arthur looked straight into Merlin’s eyes. Years of repression, the agony of all those hours spent side by side in that chamber without ever crossing the line, culminated in his next words.

"Forget about them," Arthur said selfishly.

"Will you sleep with me?"

Chapter Text

Merlin froze in utter shock. His sky-blue eyes widened behind the mask. "What? No... I—I’m not that kind of person. I have things to do."

Arthur refused to let despair take hold of him so quickly. For the first time in his life, he had cast aside the rules, his kingdom, and his future. He did not let go of Merlin's hand; instead, his grip tightened as he took another step closer. "Please. Just for one night. I won’t ask who you are, and you won’t know who I am. Just you and me."

Merlin’s mind grew hazy. Deep down, the offer was intoxicatingly tempting. To suppress his impossible, agonizing love for Arthur, he would occasionally—very rarely—indulge in such fleeting encounters; it served as a fragile comfort, a bitter solace. He swept his eyes across the ballroom one last time. He convinced himself that Arthur was nowhere near this place; with his rigid moral compass, the prince would have returned to Camelot the second he witnessed this debauchery. He wouldn't find his prince here.

He turned back to the stranger. His heart was hammering wildly. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rested his injured hand upon the extended golden-masked hand.

"All right," Merlin whispered. "All right."

Arthur's chest swelled with a monumental sense of triumph, but to mask his joy, he allowed only a noble smirk to trace his lips. He slowly brought Merlin’s hand to his mouth. Pressing his lips directly over the fresh wound, he sealed the delicate skin with a deep, searing kiss, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

The gesture caught Merlin off guard. As his cheeks burned white-hot, Arthur raised his head, fixing his masked gaze directly onto Merlin's.

"I will never make you regret this," Arthur said, his voice now deeper, more masculine, and resolute. Without releasing Merlin’s hand, he guided him away from the crowd, leading him toward one of the private, lockable rooms at the end of the corridor, shielded by heavy velvet drapes.

As Merlin followed this stranger—a man whose identity he did not know, yet whose scent brought a strange, innate sense of peace—the heavy oak door shut behind them, and the sharp click of the lock echoed in the silence. The chaos outside vanished instantly, leaving nothing but the accelerating breaths of two men.

When the heavy oak door clicked shut, the dimness inside cut through the sinful roar of the outside world like a blade. Arthur turned and slowly slid the bolt into place; the scrape of metal against metal was the first official proof that there was no turning back from what was about to unfold in this room.

Arthur leaned his back against the door, inhaling deeply. His chest rose and fell with a weight heavier than any armor he had ever worn in battle. Behind his mask, his eyes locked onto Merlin, who stood in the center of the room, looking somewhat self-conscious, yet visibly reeling from the thick, intoxicating scent of raw lust filling the air.

A tempest raged within Arthur’s soul. For years... for literal years, he had been a captive to this relentless, unspoken love. It had been a long time since he confessed to himself that the man who barged into his chambers every morning, violently throwing open the curtains while mocking him, was actually his entire world. But Merlin would never look at him that way; he was merely a loyal, blunt servant, devoted enough to give his life, but nothing more. Arthur had spent his life accepting this reality, burying his desire and affection within the cold stone walls of Camelot.

But now... now, for the first time, and perhaps the last time in his life, he had the chance to touch Merlin’s flesh. Tonight would be Arthur’s only night with Merlin; there was nothing beyond this. When the sun rose tomorrow, they would return to being king and servant. Therefore, tonight could not be a mere, ordinary coupling. Arthur wanted to realize the fantasies that had plagued his dreams and kept him awake for years: he wanted to make Merlin moan with absolute pleasure, he wanted Merlin's hands tangled frantically in his golden hair, begging him not to stop. He was going to give him the most flawless, unforgettable night of his life. It would be his greatest, sweetest secret, guarded forever.

Yet, a monumental obstacle stood in his way. Merlin had spent years dressing him, undressing him, and bathing him. Merlin knew every single muscle on Arthur’s body, every scar left behind by the battlefields. A single moment of sharp attention from Merlin could ruin everything.

Altering his voice back to that deep, gravelly pitch, Arthur spoke softly, "To see each other too clearly... would cast a shadow over the mystery of this night. Allow me to dim the light."

Perched on the edge of the bed, Merlin gave a slight nod. "As you wish," he whispered. His voice was timid, yet it failed to hide the raw, unadulterated desire beginning to stir within him. For Merlin, this night did not carry the profound spiritual weight it did for Arthur; he had simply fled into the arms of this masked stranger to escape the heavy air of Camelot and the crushing weight of his impossible, unrequited love for Arthur. He loved his prince deeply, revered him, but knowing they could never be together, he saw no harm in seeking these rare, quiet escapes in his life outside the palace.

Arthur extinguished several torches along the wall, leaving only the dim, amber glow of the hearth and a single candle. The room was now entirely surrendered to shadows and a flesh-warmed heat. They would not remove their masks; this unspoken agreement suited them both perfectly.

Turning around, Arthur felt his heart hammering so hard it threatened to burst through his ribs. His hands were trembling almost visibly, but with a king's discipline, he concealed his agitation behind the mask. This night would not be a night of selfish, physical gratification; tonight, Arthur was going to worship that adorable body, in the truest sense of the word.

With slow steps, as if terrified of bruising the very air, he walked toward Merlin. Standing at the edge of the bed, he sank to his knees before him. It was an act of complete submission—one a crown prince would never yield—but before Merlin, Arthur was nothing more than a lover.

He slowly raised his hand and cupped Merlin’s chin. The moment his fingertips brushed against that smooth skin, time ground to a halt. Arthur leaned in, his breath ghosting over Merlin’s lips. The first kiss was as light as the brush of a feather. Arthur captured Merlin’s upper lip between his own, sucking gently.

A soft gasp escaped Merlin’s chest. The stranger’s touch was so delicate yet so incredibly intense that, combined with the aphrodisiacs in the room, it made his head spin. Arthur did not rush; as if all the time in the world belonged to them, he memorized every contour of Merlin’s lips with tiny, wet, parted kisses. Merlin felt as though he had never been kissed with such reverence in his entire life. His lips parted slowly, and the kiss deepened. When Arthur gently nipped Merlin’s lower lip between his teeth, Merlin surrendered himself completely into the man’s arms, overwhelmed by a sensation akin to the sweet, melting yield of Turkish delight.

Without breaking the kiss, Arthur raised his hands. He unbuttoned Merlin’s elegant navy jacket, one by one, with agonizing patience. Sliding the jacket back off his shoulders, he discarded it onto the edge of the bed, leaving Merlin in nothing but his thin, white shirt.

Arthur’s large, warm hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, gliding onto Merlin’s bare waist. The moment his palm met Merlin’s hot skin, a shiver racked Merlin’s body from the slight chill of the room's air. Right in the middle of the kiss, a low, muffled moan escaped the back of Merlin’s throat, echoing in the quiet room.

"Ahh..."

That sound was enough to ignite a firestorm in Arthur’s loins. The hardening ache already straining against his trousers and the electricity coursing through his body were pushing his control to its absolute limit. But he did not stop; he traced his hand up Merlin’s smooth stomach, then over his ribs. His fingers rested right over Merlin’s rapidly beating heart.

Breathless from the intensity of the kiss, Merlin threw his head back slightly. Behind his mask, nothing but his brilliant blue eyes stared at the man before him. He wrapped his arms around the stranger’s imposing shoulders, his fingers burying into the fabric of the velvet cloak. The fact that this man was a knight so muscular, so broad, and possessed such golden hair made the anonymity behind the masks even more tantalizing for Merlin.

Arthur leaned down into the crook of Merlin’s neck. He captured the sensitive skin just beneath the earlobe with his lips. He pressed a small, wet kiss there, then sucked and nipped at the flesh. Merlin gripped the bedsheets tightly, arching his hips upward slightly, his entire body coiling like a spring at the touch.

Arthur’s hands had now undone the buttons of Merlin’s shirt; parting the fabric, he exposed Merlin’s slender, pale, and flawless chest beneath the dim light. Arthur was spellbound, gazing at this sacred skin. He leaned down, his tongue slowly swirling around one of Merlin’s nipples before he began to suck it into his mouth.

"Don't stop..." Merlin whispered, his voice completely thick with lust. He was on the bottom, surrendering his body to this stranger, yet he maintained a fierce, unspoken dominance as his fingers tangled into Arthur’s hair, pulling him down harder against himself. "More... please."

Arthur was utterly intoxicated by Merlin’s impatient whimpers and guidance. As his hands slid downward to loosen the ties of Merlin's trousers, the heat of their foreplay was consuming the room entirely. Skin melted into skin, and the secrets behind the masks paved the way for the relentless storm of the impending union...

Arthur’s hands continued to roam over Merlin’s arms and back, as if desperate to etch every curve of that sacred flesh into his memory. His lips held Merlin’s chest captive; his tongue swirled around the hardening nipples, sucking them, stoking the intense electricity between them with fierce, hungry bites.

However, amidst the smooth velvet of his skin, his fingertips suddenly brushed against roughness—stark differences in texture. Arthur’s fingers faltered. Across Merlin’s back, over his shoulders, and just above his ribs, there were old, hardened ridges. They were scars. Deep, brutal, weathered marks that could only be left behind by the strikes of swords or daggers.

It felt as though a bucket of icy water had been poured over Arthur’s mind. His brows furrowed in horror beneath his mask as he abruptly stopped sucking. Why? he thought. Merlin was just a servant. A clumsy boy who ran errands and cleaned the palace. Why would a servant’s flesh bear such lethal battle scars?

The royal discipline and his relentless protective instinct instantly overrode his lust. Terrified of hurting Merlin, yet driven by an iron resolve, Arthur gripped the nape of Merlin's neck and pushed him flat onto his back against the soft mattress. Leaning over him, he pulled him into another jarring, intensely passionate kiss that lasted for seconds. Marveling at the sheer strength in the stranger's sudden shift in position, Merlin wrapped his arms around his shoulders, hugging his neck, and plunged his fingers into that golden hair, stroking it softly.

When Arthur pulled his lips back just enough to breathe, his voice echoed like a deep rumble behind the mask: "You have scars..." he said, his fingers gently tracing one of the ridges on Merlin’s back. "And none of them are new."

Merlin’s mind was entirely clouded by the scents of the room and the weight of the kisses. He saw no reason to lie to this masked stranger, a knight he would likely never see again in his life. He let out a sigh, his chest heaving rapidly as he whispered honestly, "I got them protecting my lord."

Arthur went dead still at the words. Shocked, he fixed his blue eyes on Merlin from behind the mask. "What do you mean? Are you a warrior? A knight?" Arthur, of course, knew Merlin was no warrior; he was merely fishing for the truth.

Unable to resist the stranger's sudden serious and bewildered demeanor, Merlin let out a soft chuckle. As if unwilling to break the sensual spell of the room, he pressed another tiny, warm kiss to the man’s lips. "No," he said, his voice a proud whisper. "You know how it is... battlefields and those never-ending assassinations at court. Sometimes, I have to handle those dangers from the shadows, in secret."

He did not speak of magic, of course, or the ancient power at his fingertips; but he saw no harm in recounting the moments he had shielded his prince with his own chest. Right now, his only goal was to drop the subject; he didn't want this man slipping into deep thought because of him, ruining the magic of the moment. Knowing Arthur was safe was enough for him for now; he didn't want to think about the rest.

But Arthur was entirely shattered. He pulled Merlin back to himself, dragging him into a kiss so deep and fierce it felt as though it could rip him away from the world, but his mind was completely broken. For years... how had he spent years believing his servant was safe, just being clumsy within the protected walls of the palace? While he himself faced death inside his armor on the battlefield, why had he assumed Merlin, who had no protection at all, wouldn't be harmed? And assassinations? What on earth was his servant doing behind his back?

Chapter Text

The moment Arthur returned to Camelot, no matter the cost, he would uncover the truth of this matter; but right now, as a masked stranger in this room, there was nothing he could do. The immense, selfish desire inside him had given way to a deep sense of guilt and an overwhelming urge to make amends. Behind the royal mask, the man in love decided to pay the penance for every treacherous sign that caused pain to his servant.

Gasping for breath, he opened the remaining buttons of Merlin's white shirt in a single motion, completely stripping the fabric from his shoulders and throwing it to the floor. Then, he impatiently removed his own cape and shirt. Now, the bare chests of the two men faced each other in the dim light.

Arthur leaned over Merlin once again. This time, his lips did not seek Merlin's mouth; instead, he pressed them against every single scar on his noble chest, shoulders, and back. As if performing a sacred ritual, he decorated each mark left by the blows Merlin had taken for him—unknowingly—with gentle kisses. With every kiss, Merlin's skin trembled, and the muffled groans coming from his throat made the room even more burning. While Arthur worshiped his servant by kissing his wounds, their foreplay finally came to the brink of an inevitable, relentless union...

After Arthur blessed every single spot on Merlin's skin with his lips, he slowly straightened up. In the dim light, their bare chests touched, and their rapidly beating hearts echoed in the silence of the room. Grasping Merlin's waist, Arthur pulled him a bit further toward the middle of the bed. Merlin was on the bottom; his back was buried in the softness of the bed, and his sky-blue eyes beneath his mask were fixed on this imposing knight.

Arthur's hands slid to the laces of Merlin's trousers. He patiently lowered the fabric down to his hips, but with every touch, he burned his servant's skin. When Merlin was left completely naked, his body tensed against the slight coldness of the room. Arthur noticed his shivering and quickly removed his own undergarments, settling right on top of him, between Merlin's legs.

Now, no obstacles remained between them. Arthur parted Merlin's slender legs and placed one of the soft pillows under his hips. While this movement forced Merlin to completely surrender his body to him, Arthur's eyes wandered over his servant's groin and smooth skin. His selfish desires, suppressed for years, were now pushing all boundaries; the hardness beneath his trousers, which had kept him sleepless for days, rubbed tightly against Merlin's thighs.

"This might hurt a little..." Arthur whispered, his voice full of lust and excitement. He was holding himself back with difficulty so as not to reveal his identity, and his hands gripping Merlin's hips were trembling slightly. "I don't want to break you."

Merlin swallowed against the protective yet dominant stance of the stranger. He had completely surrendered himself to this man's hands, but his unyielding, sharp-tongued spirit was still very much alive. Placing his hands on Arthur's broad shoulders, he pressed his fingers into his shoulder blades. "Just don't stop," Merlin whispered, lifting his chin and looking defiantly into the stranger's eyes. "This is what we are here for."

Arthur reached for the small, scented medicinal oil bottle on the nightstand. Pouring the warm oil onto his fingers, he slowly applied it first to his own hardness and then to Merlin's most intimate, sensitive opening. The moment the man's fingertips touched his skin, Merlin closed his eyes, and a sharp, raspy breath escaped his throat. Arthur did not rush. He wanted to prepare Merlin for this union, to make him lose his mind with pleasure. He slowly pushed one finger inside, stretching Merlin's soft walls.

"Ahh..." Merlin was almost about to lose his breath, but he swallowed the word at the last moment. The stranger's fingers were so large, so determined, that Merlin tightly gripped the sheets and lifted his hips upward. When Arthur added his second finger and began to make deep, circular movements inside, Merlin threw his head back and let out low, broken moans toward the ceiling.

"Beautiful..." Arthur murmured, and as he watched Merlin's body writhe with pleasure, all the chains in his mind broke. The moans he had dreamed of for years, the image of that black hair scattering over the pillow, were right in front of him.

He slowly withdrew his fingers. Pushing Merlin's legs a bit further up toward his shoulders, he aligned himself with his wet and ready warmth. Firmly gripping Merlin's hips with both hands, without taking his eyes off his servant's masked face, Arthur slowly and with a single deep, relentless thrust pushed himself all the way inside Merlin.

"Mmph!—" Merlin's cry was instantly suppressed as Arthur pressed his mouth tightly against his lips.

The immense tension and warmth inside were intense enough to make Arthur lose his mind. Merlin's body tensed with the sudden fullness, and his legs wrapped tightly around Arthur's waist. Arthur remained motionless for a moment, waiting for Merlin to get used to this new dimension, feeling the soft tissues wrap around him like sweet, melting Turkish delight. When he withdrew his lips, both of them were heavily panting for breath.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, as a drop of sweat trickling from his forehead dripped onto Merlin's chest.

Merlin opened his eyes, the blue glass beneath his mask glistening with tears caused by lust and a slight pain. He was on the bottom, but he reclaimed his secret dominance by digging his nails into Arthur's back and pulling him even further down. "Move..." Merlin commanded, his voice a muffled whisper. "Please, move."

With that plea, Arthur lost his grip on reality completely. Withdrawing his hips, he began to bury himself into Merlin with hard, deep strokes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the creaking of the bed echoed through the room. Every single thrust from Arthur tore louder, more ragged cries from Merlin’s throat.

"Ah! Yes... right there... don't stop!" Merlin moaned. He thrashed his head from side to side, his midnight-black hair scattering wild across the pillow.

Arthur quickened his rhythm even more, desperate to drive his servant to the very peak of pleasure. Seeing how Merlin’s proud, unyielding demeanor dissolved on the bed, seeing him beg for more pleasure with every stroke, fed the fiercely selfish possessiveness within Arthur. Tangling his fingers into Merlin’s hair, he pulled his head back, exposing his neck entirely to plant hungry, deep bites along the skin.

'You are mine...' Arthur wanted to roar, but only muffled grunts broke past his lips. Together, they were climbing toward the highest peak of the rhythm, toward that precipice of no return. Merlin’s muscles were squeezing frantically around Arthur, dragging them both toward the inevitable end.

Arthur had reached his absolute limit, undone by the relentless tightness inside and the way Merlin’s body clamped around him like mad. His eyes behind the golden mask were locked on Merlin’s face, which was entirely dazed with pleasure. Following a series of accelerated strokes, a high, raw cry ripped from Merlin’s throat, and Arthur could no longer hold himself back. With a low, masculine groan, he came for the first time, spilling his seed deep into Merlin’s hot depths.

In those exact seconds, unraveled by the jarring rhythm and the overwhelming stimulation beneath the man, Merlin tensed against the sheets without a single touch to his groin; driven purely by the sheer pleasure of it, he screamed as he came hard all over his own stomach and the bed.

Only their shattered, panting breaths echoed in the dim light of the room. The first wave had passed. Arthur slowly pulled out of Merlin, careful not to hurt him. As the wet sound of their parting skin echoed softly, they both collapsed onto the cooling sheets of the bed to catch their breath for a moment.

But Arthur had no intention of stopping; this night was the only night he would ever have in his life, and he wanted to melt every second of it into Merlin’s flesh. He lay down beside Merlin to shift their position. Turning them to face the same direction, Merlin’s back was pressed against Arthur’s chest.

Just as Merlin thought he might get a moment's rest, he was caught completely off guard by the sudden, fierce movements of this mysterious knight. Arthur seized Merlin’s upper leg, pulling it high into the air, and without a single word of warning, he drove his relentless hardness straight back inside Merlin in one deep, single motion.

"Ahhh!—" Merlin gasped, about to bolt forward in shock, but Arthur’s powerful arms locked him firmly to the mattress. This position created such a sudden, incredibly deep fullness inside that Merlin’s sky-blue eyes widened in a mix of panic and sheer ecstasy.

Feeling his sudden contraction, Arthur stopped moving. He leaned down, whispering into Merlin’s ear as closely as his mask allowed, his voice the raspy rattle of a man about to lose all control: "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

Trying to catch his breath, Merlin pressed his head into the pillow. "I-I’m fine..." he moaned, his voice trembling entirely. "Just... so deep."

The moment he had his confirmation, Arthur claimed Merlin’s white, vulnerable nape and neck with his lips. He began to suck and bite greedily at the delicate skin. How these marks would be accounted for tomorrow at court, how many layers of neckscarves Merlin would have to wear to hide these bruises—Arthur didn't give a damn about any of it right now. All he wanted was to leave his mark, to seal that flesh as his own.

These wild, fierce bites against his neck awakened every nerve ending in Merlin’s body. The unyielding sensitivity radiating from his neck shot straight to his groin, and against his own volition, Merlin began to squeeze the stranger inside him like crazy. Arthur groaned in pure ecstasy at his servant's involuntary clamping. "God..." he almost roared, barely holding his breath.

Holding Merlin’s raised leg tightly with one hand to open him up further, Arthur secured the deepest possible angle for his relentless rear strokes. With his other hand, he gripped Merlin’s slender waist, locking him flush against his groin. This position brought an entirely new sensation for Merlin, a brand new taste of lust that literally took his breath away. Every time Arthur thrust hard from behind, Merlin’s cries of pleasure echoed off the walls of the room.

"Ah! God... don't stop, I beg you, don't stop!—" Merlin had lost all control now, swept away by the storm this man was raining down upon him.

For a time, nothing but the brutal collision of flesh and Merlin’s unceasing moans filled the space. Arthur knew Merlin was nearing his peak again from the way his muscles tightly convulsed and his body trembled uncontrollably. Sliding his free hand down Merlin’s stomach, he wrapped his palm around his servant’s already soaking wet penis.

Overwhelmed by the monumental, dual stimulation coming from both sides at once, Merlin’s mind completely shattered. "Ah! No, wait—it’s too much—" Merlin cried out, his hips thrashing out of control, perfectly synchronized with the strokes from behind. But Arthur did not stop; quickening his hand, he continued to bury his hips into Merlin with the hardest, deepest thrusts.

Not long after, a devastating scream tore from Merlin's throat as he came wildly into the servant man's hand. In those exact seconds, Arthur entered deep, trembling contractions and spilled his seed into the deepest, warmest point of Merlin's core. Both men collapsed onto the bed, breathless at the peak of pleasure.

The room fell into a heavy silence once again. Arthur rested his head on Merlin's shoulder, his chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. A thin drop of sweat trickled from the nape of Merlin's neck, following his sweat-soaked white skin. That white nape looked so fascinating, so flawless in the dim light that Arthur could not resist.

He pressed his lips against that wet piece of skin; with his tongue, he slowly licked the salty drops of sweat trickling down Merlin's neck, feeling that warmth and the essence of his servant upon his tongue, in the deepest depths of his heart.

Chapter Text

The two bodies merged flawlessly in the dim light. Arthur touched every contour of Merlin’s skin with absolute passion. Merlin’s mind was entirely clouded; the scent of aphrodisiacs in the room and the intense pleasure had completely detached him from the world. Driven by an instinct to meet his equal face-to-face, he turned onto his other side.

Now, they were chest-to-chest with the golden-masked stranger. True to the rules of their masquerade game, Merlin placed his hand on the man’s mask. When he pulled him down, trapping him in a deep, consuming kiss, Arthur responded with immense hunger, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s back with the longing of centuries.

They rose from the bed as a single entity. Arthur gripped Merlin by the waist and pulled him onto his lap. Slowly breaking the kiss, he whispered with his hot breath seeping from beneath the mask: "Can you keep going? You take control..." His voice was gentle. He didn't want to force Merlin; he was leaving the rhythm entirely up to him.

Merlin could not resist the pull. As he assumed control, a sweet wave of embarrassment washed over him. He slowly let his weight settle onto the man. The void within him was filled to its absolute depth. As he sat gently over Arthur’s groin, the two were completely unified. Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, burying his nails into those broad shoulders. The rhythm was his now.

Lifting his hips slowly and then letting himself drop back down with his full weight, a fierce moan escaped him. "Ahhh!—" In response to Merlin’s voice, Arthur’s hands clamped around his waist instantly. As Merlin rose and fell, he poured his proud soul entirely into lust; neither crude nor passive, he was the absolute master of the pleasure.

Arthur was spellbound by his servant taking charge of the pace. The fantasy he hadn't even dared to imagine in his dreams was a reality now. Yet, with every rise, he noticed Merlin’s legs trembling and his groans turning to exhaustion. This position was draining the young man.

Feeling his strength give out, Merlin rested his head against Arthur’s chest and just hung there, suspended. Arthur’s protective knightly instincts awakened immediately. Cupping Merlin’s chin, he drew him into another series of deep kisses. Sliding his hands down past his waist, he firmly gripped his hips and took back control.

Arthur began lifting Merlin’s hips and bringing them down over his own hardness at the perfect angle. This guidance relieved Merlin of the physical strain, providing immense comfort. Arthur buried his head into Merlin’s neck, sealing his skin with greedy kisses. Merlin’s sky-blue eyes filled with tears born of sheer ecstasy. Throwing his head back, he was swept to the absolute peaks of the storm...

The rest of the night dissolved into a tempest of lust where time lost all meaning. They continued on the bed, on the library desk, and even against the stone wall, propping Merlin up when his knees could no longer support him. The game of mystery behind the masks was consumed to its very limits.

When the storm finally calmed toward dawn, Arthur gently laid Merlin back on the bed. The young man had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Panting heavily, Arthur refreshed the bed and gently settled his servant onto the clean sheets.

Stepping back, he looked at the masterpiece he had created. Dark purple seals covered Merlin’s delicate neck. Arthur chuckled mischievously with immense satisfaction; how many neckscarves would Merlin have to wrap around himself in this stifling summer heat just to hide these marks? He already made up his mind to grant his servant plenty of time off at court.

The first rays of sunlight were starting to seep through. His identity had to remain secret, otherwise Merlin would raise hell in the castle. Arthur knelt by the side of the bed. Reaching out, he slowly lifted the silver-inlaid mask. Merlin’s peaceful face was revealed. Placing a deep, silent kiss on his forehead, he slipped the mask back into place.

With warm water, he gently cleansed Merlin’s body. Then, with infinite patience, he dressed him back in his deep blue nobleman's garments. "I could do this every day, for the rest of my life," he thought to himself.

Quickly donning his own cloak, he stepped silently out into the cool morning air. Looking directly into the rising sun, he took a deep breath. A peaceful, proud smile graced his lips. A booming inner voice whispered a single truth: Camelot was going to be more beautiful than ever today.

When he cracked his eyes open, the golden-yellow morning light seeping through the room's windows hit him directly in the face. Merlin woke with a deep breath inside the bed. Strangely, a sense of profound lightness and relief filled his body, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Even the old, weary ache in his bones seemed to have vanished.

He slowly sat up in bed. But the moment he moved, the unyielding ache between his legs and the sweet soreness in every single part of his body sent everything from last night crashing into his mind like a flood.

"Damn it..." he muttered. Bringing both hands to his head, he rubbed his face harshly. His mind laid out the scenes from last night one by one: that library desk, the walls, being lifted into the air, those relentless, muffled groans echoing in his ears...

He had gone there for Arthur. His sole purpose was to protect his foolish, arrogant prince, to keep him out of trouble. But he had never imagined he would get so worked up before that masked knight, leaving his entire willpower behind in the sheets of that bed. To push the boundaries so drastically in a single night with a complete stranger whose name he didn't even know...

With the sheer weight of his thoughts, Merlin couldn't help but flush. As his cheeks burned hot, he instinctively brought a hand to his mouth; it felt as though the warmth of the man’s hungry, deep kisses was still lingering on his lips. It was the best, most flawless sex of his life. He couldn't deny it, nor did he intend to. The man had quite literally blown him away with pleasure, not stopping until he had claimed his very soul.

Lifting his head, he scanned the dim room. The man in the golden mask was gone. That was the primary move anyway, adhering to the rules of their hidden game; before the morning light broke, the masks went on, and everyone returned to their own lives.

Merlin slowly pulled back the silk coverlet and froze at what he saw. He scanned his own body in sheer shock. His clothes—that elegant deep blue shirt and trousers—had been put back on him flawlessly. Even stranger, there wasn't a hint of stickiness on his skin; the man had cleansed him with great tenderness before leaving. "Who was that man?" Merlin murmured, the strange admiration and bewilderment within him growing by the second.

Noticing his throat was parched, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to grab a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. His soles touched the wooden floor; he leaned his torso forward to stand and took a step.

But at the very first movement, his knees buckled instantly, as if every bone inside them had melted. His legs couldn't bear an ounce of his weight, and reflecting purely on survival, Merlin threw himself forward, crashing down onto the floor as he propped himself against the opposite wall.

As his back hit the cold wall, his sky-blue eyes widened in horror. Merlin was in absolute, total shock now. A single word escaped his lips: "Fuck..."

Panting heavily as he felt the deep ache across his hips, he tried to pull himself up by gripping the wall, but his legs were shaking like a leaf. He couldn't help but mutter to himself: "Walking... since when was walking this hard?"

That stranger knight hadn't just made him moan; he had literally left him unable to walk. And worst of all, Merlin now had to return to the castle on these legs, with this bruised neck, and wake Arthur up as if nothing had happened. "Ah... damn it."

The journey back to the castle was pure torture for Merlin. He had slipped away from the manor in secret and mounted his horse, but with every step the animal took, the ache shooting through his hips and anus was brutal. Grit teeth, he rained curses down upon that golden-masked knight, while simultaneously feeling completely unmoored by the sweet exhaustion wrapping around his body.

Reaching the castle, he slipped into the room he shared with Gaius without being seen by anyone. Locking the door, he quickly shed the deep blue noble clothes. When he stepped in front of the mirror, he froze at the sight.

"You've got to be kidding me..." he murmured in horror.

The stranger had practically branded him with his own mark. His neck, chest, and shoulders were covered in dark purple seals. Stepping closer to the mirror, his feelings toward the man shifted; yes, he had a mesmerizing touch and a monumental penis, but marking him this fiercely was too much.

He didn't have much time; Arthur’s waking hour was fast approaching. His legs were still trembling, limping with every step. From his wardrobe, he pulled out his trousers and that purple shirt—the one Arthur had personally gifted him—which covered his arms. When it came to hiding the disaster on his neck, he took his widest red neckscarf from his chest and wrapped it around his neck several times. He checked himself in the mirror; the fabric rose all the way to his chin, covering everything. Because of the stifling summer heat outside, he didn't put on a jacket.

He left the room. Limping slightly with that deep ache pounding against his hips with every step, he began walking toward Arthur’s chambers, maintaining a facial expression as if he wasn't the one screaming those cries last night.

The moment Merlin cracked open the heavy oak door and stepped into Arthur’s room, he froze in utter shock. The breakfast tray in his hands nearly slipped right through his fingers.

Arthur Pendragon—the man who usually had to be dragged out of bed every single morning—was already wide awake, seated at his desk, and cheerfully writing away on pieces of parchment. Moreover, there wasn't a single trace of exhaustion on him; on the contrary, his skin was glowing, and his shoulders were held high.

Trying to hide his bewilderment, Merlin slipped inside with limping steps. Setting the breakfast tray down on the usual dining table, he blinked, staring at Arthur. "You're... awake?" he asked, his voice barely coming out as a whisper. "And on your own?"

The moment Arthur heard Merlin’s voice, he lifted his head from the parchments. On his lips was a smirk so mischievous, wide, and noble that Merlin had never seen anything like it on his face before. "Yes, Merlin. It is morning; in fact, it's nearing noon, if you haven't noticed," he said, his voice sounding silky smooth and cheerful.

Merlin was completely stunned. He couldn't make any sense of this sudden and bizarre shift in his prince's mood. Normally, waking up at this hour would mean throwing pillows at him and being grumpy all day. Just as Merlin was about to conjure up a lie to defend himself, Arthur raised a hand slightly.

"But it's fine," Arthur continued, gathering the parchments on the desk with that unusual kindness in his voice. "You were probably exhausted from cleaning my room last night and overslept. I don't blame you."

Completely bewildered, Merlin instinctively brought a hand to the back of his neck, trying to scratch it while making sure that massive red neckscarf didn't slip. "Ah... yes. Yes, that's exactly what happened. Cleaning... it takes a lot out of a person."

Arthur stood up from the desk. Stretching his imposing, broad shoulders, he began walking toward the dining table. That pleasant, rogue smile never left his face for a single second. The closer Arthur got, the more confused Merlin’s mind became; the aura of the man he had moaned under last night was, in a strange way, clashing in his mind with the aura of Arthur standing before him now, though he couldn't bridge the connection. Perhaps it just stemmed from both of them being knights.

Merlin decided to bring up the topic he had set out for last night, using castle security as an excuse. "Um... Arthur?"

"Yes, Merlin?" Arthur sat in his chair and reached for his plate.

"Last night... did you go to that masquerade ball?" Merlin asked, narrowing his eyes, carefully trying to catch every single shift in his facial expressions.

Arthur paused abruptly just as he was about to pop a piece of bread into his mouth. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He weighed what to say, how to construct a lie within seconds. Though the selfish lover beneath the mask panicked for a brief moment, he recovered instantly with the composure of a king.

"Ah, yes. I went," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice entirely casual. "But... I actually turned back right as I entered the door. I didn't even get a chance to look inside."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Let's just say I felt a bit... unwell," Arthur said, averting his eyes from Merlin to look down at his plate. "The air was too stifling, my head spun. I wasn't in the mood to deal with court intrigues. So I got right back on my horse and returned to Camelot. Meaning, if you catch my drift, I didn't have to tolerate any of those 'arrogant nobles' you mentioned."

Merlin believed this answer entirely. He let out a deep, relieved breath internally. So Arthur hadn't even gone inside. In that case, the monumental knight who had left him unable to walk in that room last night was definitely a mysterious noble from Lord Godwin’s army or some distant kingdom. Arthur’s absence there both relieved Merlin and set his feelings toward the stranger even freer. "I see... you did the right thing. It wasn't your kind of place anyway," Merlin murmured.

They continued their conversation with mundane things like that. Merlin moved around the room, pretending to organize clothes; but Arthur’s eyes were entirely on him.

Arthur watched with immense care and a deep, internal sense of massive satisfaction as Merlin limped slightly with the ache in his hips with every step he took, his legs visibly trembling. Especially when he saw Merlin chosing to wear that massive red fabric tightly wrapped around his neck and pulling the collar of his purple shirt up high in that dreadful summer heat, Arthur’s mischievous desire reached its peak. He had made every single one of those marks with his own hands, his own lips; his servant was standing before him right now with his brand, with the pleasure-filled damage he had left behind.

Taking another bite from his plate, Arthur was truly finding it difficult to hide that happy, enamored, and victorious smile on his face.

Once Arthur finished his meal, Merlin prepared the official garments to be worn for the rest of the day and hung them over the screen as usual. Knowing that Arthur would step into those heavy, layered fabrics in this stifling summer heat nudged the mischievous servant within him.

"I hope you don't sweat too much inside these clothes, my King," Merlin said, maintaining that slightly teasing tone in his voice. "Because the weather today is quite literally the kind to make a man faint."

Arthur glared at Merlin as he stepped behind the screen, but he couldn't hide that cheerful, satisfied smile on his face. "None of your business, Merlin. Just do your work," he tossed back from inside.

Merlin rolled his eyes and strode toward Arthur’s massive study desk to continue cleaning the room. Tax notes, grain storehouse reports, and kingdom seals lay scattered across the desk. Mumbling under his breath, Merlin began straightening out the parchments. Just then, a sudden glint seeping from the secret drawer, which had been left slightly ajar at the bottom right corner of the desk, caught his eye. Under the dim light, it was an ominous, golden shimmer.

With entirely innocent curiosity, Merlin reached out and slid the drawer back further, taking care not to make a sound.

Time froze in that exact second. The entire axis of the world slipped from beneath Merlin’s feet.

Resting there inside the drawer, shimmering against the dark velvet, was... the golden mask of the mysterious knight who had upended his life last night, leaving him unable to walk right now. Right next to it lay the black-and-gold embroidered invitation used to enter the manor.

Merlin’s sky-blue eyes widened in sheer bewilderment, in absolute horror. His brain scanned millions of possibilities in a split second, but a single truth crashed down on his head like a sledgehammer. The biggest shock of his life wasn't facing a dragon, nor was it the danger of his magic being discovered. The greatest shock was sitting right inside that drawer at this very moment.

"Arthur?..." he thought to himself, his lips trembling. "The man last night... was Arthur? You must be joking. God, this must be a nightmare..."

Merlin was quite literally rooted to the spot. His face turned from white to red, and from red to purple within seconds. He couldn't remember ever being this embarrassed in his entire life, his cheeks burning as if on fire. Last night, he had begged his king, he had bounced on his lap, he had let him bite his neck! Moreover, Arthur had likely done all of it knowing exactly who he was!

At that moment, Arthur emerged from behind the screen, tying his trousers. Seeing Merlin standing at the desk, frozen like a statue while staring into the drawer, a sudden wave of panic washed over him. "Merlin?" Arthur called out, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "What are you doing there? Merlin, I'm talking to you!"

Merlin didn't even hear his voice; only his own groans from last night and Arthur’s muffled whispers were ringing in his ears. Within seconds, the embarrassment and shock gave way to pure, unadulterated fury.

With a sudden reflex, Merlin grabbed the first thing his hand landed on over the desk—a silver ornamental trinket, followed immediately by his cleaning rag—and hurled them with all his might at Arthur, who had just stepped out from the screen!

THUD!

The trinket struck Arthur’s shoulder and clattered to the floor, while the rag smacked right in the middle of his face, draping over it.

"You vile, miserable, selfish bastard! You arrogant toad!" Merlin shouted, his voice loud enough to echo through the castle corridors. His face was so crimson with embarrassment that he looked as if he might cry from pure rage. "How could you do this?! That man last night was you?!"

Arthur ripped the rag off his face quickly, holding his shoulder as he stared at Merlin in shock. Seeing Merlin glaring at the open drawer and the golden mask, he knew he was caught. For the first time in his life, the crown prince raised his hands in the air, looking utterly helpless and guilty:

"Merlin, wait! I can explain!"

He couldn't explain. He had to explain his selfishness and his love. That was how the servant and the King had possessed each other for the very first time.

Chapter Text

When the door of the royal bedroom closed with a loud noise behind Merlin, the silver tray remaining inside and the cleaning cloths on the floor looked as if they had witnessed the strangest war Camelot had ever seen. Merlin was gasping for breath when he threw himself into the dim light of the corridor. His ears, cheeks, and chest were burning like a battered ember. He was running away not just out of shame or the initial shock of being caught, but because everything in his mind was unraveling one after another like a loose thread.

That stranger, the man in that mask who touched his skin with a selfish yet immense tenderness, was Arthur. For days, Merlin had been crushed under the weight of not being able to find a logical explanation for why a king would want to share his bed with his own servant. Was this a game? Could Arthur have fun with him and gone too far? Moreover, that night Merlin had not only offered his body to him, but had also shown those deep protection scars on his back, and on top of that, had confessed how he protected that "stranger" at the cost of his life. Now, he knew that the stranger was Arthur. There was a huge explanation owed, and Arthur had to make it, but Merlin was terribly afraid of the emotional storm that face-to-face confrontation would bring.

The next few days, the Palace of Camelot became the scene of a silent but highly tense chase. After every boring council meeting in the throne room, whenever Arthur saw the edge of Merlin's blue shirt in the corridors, he would call out behind him and try to stop him.

"Merlin! Stop right now, this is an order!"

But it was in vain. Merlin turned corners with an agility that even a royal guard could not display, slipped through the back doors of the physician's quarters, and disappeared like a shadow. The most infuriating part of the matter was that when Arthur woke up in the mornings, the room was prepared perfectly in every way. The clothes were ironed, the wine was poured, and the breakfast tray was left on the table; but Merlin was nowhere to be seen. Arthur was incredibly displeased and uncomfortable with this escape, this silent punishment. He would think to himself, "I shouldn't have done this, I shouldn't have slept with him this way." But then, when a memory of that night came to his mind—Merlin’s flawless, surrendered beauty under that moonlight—the feeling of regret completely flew away.

Yet, the biggest, darkest question gnawing at Arthur's mind was different: the scars on Merlin's back.

Arthur secretly began to investigate. First, he probed the knights, then Gwen, and finally, he went to the physician's quarters and stood over Gaius.

"Gaius, Merlin... He has old, deep scars on his back. Like sword or whip marks. Do you know what wounded him?"

Gaius did not pause for a single moment while sorting the herbs on his counter. The old man was not someone who would expose Merlin's magic and his secret wars for the kingdom. Lifting one of his thick eyebrows, he let out a deep sigh. "Ah, Sire. Merlin’s clumsiness is known to you. The accidents he had while in the village, the wild boars that chased him in the forest... Just youth."

Arthur was not satisfied. Magic was still strictly forbidden in Camelot, and due to his unshakable prejudices, the possibility of Merlin being a sorcerer did not even cross Arthur's mind. Merlin did not know how to hold a sword, he did not enter wars; he was just a physician's apprentice. Then where had those marks come from?

On the fourth day of the chase, Arthur's patience completely overflowed. While walking angrily through the east corridor, he saw Merlin under the large arch at the corner. But he was not alone; Gwaine was next to him. Gwaine had thrown his hand over Merlin's shoulder, telling him something while laughing loudly. And Merlin was offering him one of those bright, sincere smiles that he hadn't shown to Arthur for days.

A sudden, sharp jealousy settled in Arthur's chest. Clenching his teeth, he accelerated his steps. He hadn't been able to see the man properly for days; there was a longing and yearning growing like mountains inside him toward him.

"Gwaine," Arthur said, his voice sounding more like a predator protecting its territory than a king. "Aren't the knights supposed to be on the training field?"

Startled, Gwaine pulled his hand away from Merlin's shoulder and greeted him with his usual flirtatious smirk. "Ah, Leon took over the field, Sire. I was just telling Merlin a new joke from the tavern."

"Good, now take your place on the field. Merlin and I have kingdom business to handle," Arthur said. He did not take his eyes off Merlin. Sensing the tension in the situation, Gwaine shrugged and moved down the corridor.

Merlin immediately attempted to turn his back to leave, but with a sharp movement, Arthur gripped Merlin's wrist and pulled him toward himself. Merlin trembled from the sudden effect of the contact; his face turned bright red within seconds. The warmth of Arthur's hand directly reminded him of that room, that dark bed, and that heavy, ambitious body on top of him.

"Let go of my arm, Arthur," Merlin whispered, trying to pull his arm back. "I have chores to do."

"I just want to speak, Merlin. Please," Arthur requested, his voice almost begging this time. Gwaine had not yet reached the end of the corridor, his steps were slow, and his eye was behind them.

Merlin stubbornly shook his head. "We have nothing to speak about."

Arthur decided to play his last card to break Merlin's stubborn resistance. He leaned toward Merlin's ear, but keeping his voice in a tone that Gwaine could also faintly hear, he whispered flirtatiously: "So there is nothing to speak about... Then that Masquerade ball, the writhing with pleasure, and on top of those sheets..."

Merlin's eyes widened with horror, and he turned red up to his ears. Just thinking about what Gwaine would deduce from these words was enough to paralyze his mind. To prevent Arthur from speaking further, he reached out without thinking and directly covered Arthur's mouth.

"Hush! Shut your mouth, hush for God's sake!" Merlin hissed.

Even though Merlin's palm tightly covered his mouth, Arthur did not stop. It was so obvious that he was smirking from his narrowing eyes and the upward movement of his cheeks... Merlin was angry, embarrassed, and helpless. When Arthur realized he could not speak beneath Merlin's hand, looking into his eyes, he made a treacherous move: he stuck out his tongue and gently licked Merlin's palm.

Merlin startled as if a hot iron had touched his hand, but he could not escape; Arthur was still holding his wrist tightly. With his wet tongue, Arthur began to slowly draw patterns on Merlin's palm, over the lines of his skin. Merlin's breath hitched, and the redness on his cheeks was now almost turning to purple.

"All right! All right, damn it, walk, let's talk!" Merlin whispered, pulling his hand away quickly. Catching Arthur by his shoulders, he turned him in the opposite direction in the corridor and began to make him walk, almost dragging him in front of himself. They left Gwaine behind in amazement.

Merlin kicked open the door of an empty, dim guest room at the end of the corridor. As soon as he pushed Arthur inside, he closed the door behind them and furiously pinned his king against the door.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Merlin demanded an explanation, his chest rising and falling with anger. "What kind of words are those in the middle of everyone, next to Gwaine? You are a king, Arthur!"

With his back resting against the wooden door, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled. "Finally... Finally you are looking at my face, Merlin."

Merlin turned around and reached for the door handle. "If this is all, I am leaving."

However, Arthur quickly grasped Merlin's waist, not letting him go. "No, don't go. I am sorry," he said, his voice suddenly becoming serious. This word stopped Merlin's steps. A sincere apology coming from Arthur's mouth always managed to catch his attention.

Merlin slowly turned to him, but his anger had not subsided. "You are apologizing? You said you wouldn't go there, Arthur! You lied to me. You lied about your identity! Even though you recognized me in that bed from the very first moment, you said nothing!"

"Yes, I lied, because I had no other choice!" Arthur countered, and the flame of that familiar argument between them flared up again. "I couldn't bring you close to me through normal ways, Merlin! You were constantly running away from me."

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers out of anger, trying to calm down. Arthur used this open moment; grasping Merlin by his waist, he changed their positions within seconds. He rested his own back against the door again, and pulled Merlin sharply, resting him completely against his torso. Merlin stumbled slightly; to avoid completely eliminating the distance between them, he placed one hand on Arthur's broad chest. Arthur's arms tightly encircled Merlin's waist, but his back faced the completely open room; meaning Arthur was giving him a secret message: You can turn around and leave at any moment if you want, I am not holding you by force.

Looking into Merlin's eyes, Arthur whispered: "I am not the only one who lied, Merlin. You lied too."

Merlin froze for a moment. Before he could answer, Arthur's large, warm hand slipped inside the hem of Merlin's thin linen shirt. Merlin shivered slightly with the warmth of that hand touching his skin, but the wandering of this warmth over his body reawakened that familiar, forbidden desire inside him. Yet, so as not to compromise his pride, he turned his face away, acting as if he were completely uninterested in the matter.

Arthur's hand did not stop; it climbed upward from Merlin's waist and settled over one of those raised, hard scars on his back. With his fingertips, he gently stroked over the scar. "You must explain these to me, Merlin. What are these?"

Merlin fixed his eyes on an empty wall in the room. He acted as if he didn't hear.

"Merlin, I am asking you," Arthur pressed.

"There is nothing to explain," Merlin snapped suddenly, the defense mechanism in his voice taking over. "Just old wounds."

Arthur was uncomfortable with this lie, grunted a bit, and wrapped himself more around Merlin's waist. He doesn't explain it to me, but he explained it to a masked man he didn't even know, he thought to himself.

A bitter, strange smile appeared on Arthur's lips. "Do you know what is strange here? You explained it to him."

Frowning, Merlin turned his face to Arthur. "To whom?"

"To the masked man," Arthur said, with a clear resentment in his voice. "You showed him the scars on your back. You said you were wounded to protect me."

Merlin looked at Arthur's face with disbelieving eyes. Right now, there wasn't even a finger's distance between them, their bodies were glued together. Seeing that childish, jealous gleam in Arthur's eyes, Merlin asked in surprise: "Are you... Are you serious? Are you jealous of yourself, Arthur?"

A slight pinkness spread over Arthur's cheeks, and he quickly averted his eyes. "That is not our topic."

Merlin couldn't help but laugh softly. The heavy gloom that had lasted for days dissipated a bit with this ridiculous jealousy. "You are like a joke, Arthur. Truly like a joke."

"Do not deflect the topic, Merlin, explain!" Arthur ordered, and even though he tried to keep his voice firm, he was aware of his damaged charisma.

Merlin let out a deep sigh. He knew he had entered a dead end, that he had to explain these marks somehow. His mind quickly tried to produce a lie. "It happened while in Ealdor... The bandits that raided the village... They opened fire, drew swords..."

Arthur slid his hand a bit further up Merlin's back. "You cannot make me swallow this, Merlin. Some of these scars are fresh, newly adapted to your skin. And you have been in Camelot for years."

Merlin cursed Arthur inwardly for immediately refuting this foolish excuse.

Seeing Merlin's silence, Arthur did not press further. He slowly leaned forward, moving aside with his fingers that red neckscarf that always hid Merlin's neck. Seeing that the bite and suction marks on his neck were almost about to pass, his mood spoiled; he wanted those marks to be permanent, to see his own stamp on Merlin.

Arthur pressed his lips against that sensitive hollow of Merlin's neck. Before kissing, he took a deep breath, inhaling that clean skin scent of Merlin that smelled of forest and rain. Merlin was shocked again by this sudden and intense contact, his shoulders straightened, and he trembled slightly in Arthur's arms.

While Arthur continued to kiss his neck, Merlin couldn't take it anymore, placed his hands on Arthur's chest, and pushed him gently to put some distance between them. Gasping for breath, he asked, "What is your problem, Arthur?"

Arthur looked at him with a strained, deep, and fragile gaze. There was no arrogance of a king in that look. Arthur wanted to be Merlin's everything; his friend, his companion, his king, his prince, his lover... He wanted him to trust him completely, to open everything inside him. But what annoyed him was that while Merlin chose to trust that masked stranger (meaning himself again), he did not trust his king who had been by his side for years.

"My problem is you, Merlin," Arthur said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Taking a big breath, he began to pour out everything inside him: "Every day I wake up to see you, to hear you draw those stupid curtains and wake me up. Sitting side by side with you, eating together, going hunting... I love everything I do with you, Merlin! I want you to trust me too. You have been by my side for years, have I still not earned your trust?"

Merlin was shaken by these sudden and intense confessions, his lips parted but he couldn't speak.

Without giving him an opportunity to say anything, Arthur continued, his eyes literally burning: "Yes, Merlin, yes! I love you. I love you so much!"

The weight of keeping this secret inside for years, combined now with the fear of completely losing Merlin, tightened Arthur's chest with pain; he felt as if his heart had stopped, his breath had cut off. Although he tried to stand strong from the outside, that massive pessimism and helplessness inside was leaking out.

Merlin immediately sensed his deep sadness and pain. His heart could not take it any longer against this broken state of Arthur. That single sentence turning around in his brain was enough to make him forget all the prohibitions in the world: Arthur loved him.

Merlin grasped that large, trembling hand on his waist and took it inside his own palms. He squeezed it tightly to calm him down, to make him feel that he was here, that he wouldn't leave, and looked into Arthur's eyes. And he couldn't resist any further; wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck, he hugged him tightly.

Arthur froze with the shock of the first moment, but within seconds, inhaling Merlin's scent, he buried his head in his neck and wrapped his arms around his back. "I am sorry... I am sorry," Arthur whispered repeatedly.

For a while, they remained holding onto each other right in the middle of the room. Then Arthur felt Merlin's shoulders shaking slightly. He heard a faint sound of a sob. Surprised, Arthur pulled back and wanted to see Merlin's face.

Merlin was crying. Tears were trickling down his cheeks. Arthur placed his large palms on Merlin's cheeks, trying to wipe away those warm tears with his thumbs. Before he could say, "Merlin... Are you all right?" Merlin suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips against Arthur's lips.

Because this kiss was sudden and unplanned, it was a bit clumsy at first; their teeth collided, and their lips were trembling. But despite this, it was perfect. Arthur adapted immediately, grasping Merlin's waist and pulling him even closer to himself, while Merlin deepened the kiss as if wanting to fully draw Arthur inside despite his trembling lips. Between their kisses, Arthur tasted the salty taste of Merlin's tears, and this feeling completely wiped away that previous chest pounding, that pessimism.

When they parted, both of them were gasping for breath. Merlin rested his head against Arthur's chest again, wrapping his arms around him. "I trust you, Arthur," he whispered. Arthur said nothing, just hugged him tighter and kissed his hair; both of them needed to calm down.

A few minutes later, they moved to the side of the fireplace that was dying out in the corner of the room. Both of them sat on the thick armchair in front of the fireplace, on the floor. Arthur reluctantly let go of Merlin's hand and looked at the redness on his face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Merlin said, nodding his head. A short, intense silence occurred between them. Arthur thought that he had exhausted Merlin too much and didn't want to force him. If necessary, he could wait for him; he had already waited for years.

But Merlin broke the silence by taking a deep breath. "I trust you, Arthur... Even though you are the most selfish man in the world." That old, mischievous smile appeared on his lips; even in the most dramatic moments, he managed to squeeze in that familiar joke.

But the real storm inside Merlin was about to break. He had thought about this for years. He wanted to confess everything to Arthur, to show him that magic was not evil, that it existed to save his life. Arthur was not his father, Uther; yes, he was his son, but he was just. Yet, this confession was that thin line between death and life.

Merlin slowly slid down from the armchair in front of Arthur and knelt on his knees. his hands were visibly trembling. He tightly held Arthur's knees with both hands. Surprised by this sudden and submissive movement of Merlin, Arthur made a move to lift him up, but Merlin shook his head and swallowed hard.

"First of all..." Merlin began, as one more drop of tear trickled from his eyes. "Please do not hate me, Arthur."

Holding Merlin's hands, Arthur leaned forward. "Merlin, everything in this world might be possible, but for me to hate you... That is impossible. Don't you understand?"

Merlin sniffled and fixed his eyes on Arthur's eyes. "Do whatever you want to me, throw me into the dungeon, punish me... But please do not hate me."

Arthur's mind was thoroughly confused. What could there be that would upset Merlin so much, that required him to hide it for years? Moreover, how could Merlin have protected him anyway? Merlin had never held a sword in his life, he didn't know how to fight, he was just a physician. And most importantly... He was alive. Despite all the creatures, sorcerers, and assassins that came to Camelot, how had Merlin stayed alive without receiving a single fatal wound? He never got heavily wounded before his eyes, but carried those terrible marks on his back. This meant everything was happening in the background; all those words about "spending the night at the tavern" were a huge lie...

The pieces in Arthur's mind began to unite with great speed.

Merlin swallowed, wiped away that fear in his eyes, and looked at Arthur's face with a sharp, clear, and surrendered expression. He was no longer crying.

"If you want... You can burn me, Arthur."

This word found an icy echo inside the room. To be burned. The punishment of sorcerers.

Arthur solved everything at that moment. He now clearly understood how Merlin stayed alive, how he received those terrible marks on his back, how he saved him from every danger...

Merlin was a sorcerer.

Arthur immediately experienced a great shock; his entire body went rigid. His eyes looked at Merlin as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. Merlin realized from the expression on Arthur's face that he understood everything. Merlin's chest hurt as if someone had inserted a hot iron inside, but he couldn't take his eyes off his king. The moment of decision had come. He was just waiting for his king's judgment.

Arthur took his eyes off Merlin for a moment and looked into the emptiness of the room, at the rug on the floor. His mind was in ruins. Merlin was a sorcerer... But where had he learned magic? How had he hidden it for this long? Arthur's breathing became irregular, and his chest began to rapidly rise and fall.

The moment he noticed this panic state of his, Merlin squeezed his hands on Arthur's knees even more. "Only for you..." Merlin whispered, his voice trembling. "I used it only to protect you, Arthur."

Arthur experienced an even greater shock with this word. Each word demolished the prejudices inside him, leaving a different feeling in his heart. Lifting his head, he looked at this man kneeling before him. He was not one of those monster, evil sorcerers his father talked about. On the contrary, right now at the base of his feet, he stood so helpless and miserable...

The orange, warm firelight hitting from the fireplace struck the side of Merlin's sharp facial features, drawing a barrier between him and the darkness behind him. Arthur thought; he could never throw Merlin into the fire. He could never harm him. Because Merlin was harmless; he had been side by side with him for years, and Merlin's only bad habit was those tavern nights, which he now knew were a lie. And now this man was waiting for the judgment he would give.

Arthur and Merlin. Behind them, the fire.

Arthur couldn't speak at first, and wetted his dry lips with his tongue. His voice came out muffled: "Why... Why didn't you tell me, Merlin?"

Sensing that softening in Arthur's voice, Merlin calmed down a bit. "If I had told you, you would have chopped off my head."

Arthur agreed inwardly. Maybe he wouldn't chop it off himself, but the laws of Camelot, the legacy of Uther, would definitely chop that head off. This silence of Arthur began to frighten Merlin again. He was trapped between the light of the fire and Arthur's shadow; would Arthur push him away, or pull him toward himself?

Arthur would never push him away. He swallowed hard and asked the second question: "How many times did you save me, Merlin? And... Since when?"

Merlin shook his head resolutely. "I don't remember... I couldn't count." Then taking a deep breath, he added: "Since the twentieth anniversary of Camelot being cleansed of magic."

Arthur remembered that day like yesterday. That fatal knife that woman had thrown at him during the palace festivities... Merlin had lunged forward and saved him. This meant everything had been turning with Merlin's secret magic since that first day.

A long, deep silence collapsed into the room. Then Arthur reached out, held Merlin by his shoulders, and slowly lifted him to his feet. Merlin looked so weak, so exhausted; it was as if he had lost ten kilograms while emptying that massive secret inside him in these last fifteen minutes. Moving him away from that scorching fire of the fireplace, Arthur guided him toward the large table in the room and sat him on the chair so that his shaking would pass.

Now it was Arthur's turn. Arthur went right across from Merlin and knelt in front of the table to fully come face-to-face with him.

The moonlight leaking through the window was shining in Merlin's eyes, which were still wet. Arthur thought to himself; how could this man look so wonderful even while crying? And Arthur was now completely sure: Such a pure, such a self-sacrificing soul could never be evil.

Arthur took Merlin's hands, which were cold as ice, between his own warm hands. With his lips trembling, Merlin was waiting for that last word to come out of his mouth; he was so patient but equally tense.

Looking into Merlin's eyes, Arthur spoke word by word:

"If you are a sorcerer, Merlin..."

They never took their eyes off each other.

"There is no possibility of magic being evil... You are perfect."

The moment Merlin heard these words, the weight of those years in his chest evaporated all at once. This time, he began to cry, sobbing out of happiness. Without thinking, he threw himself down from the chair next to Arthur, and both of them knelt on the floor, hugging each other like crazy.

Arthur stroked Merlin's black hair, trying to calm him down by passing his hand over those scars on his back. And Merlin was constantly murmuring, "I am sorry, I should have told you before, I am so sorry..."

"Shh... All right, it passed," Arthur said, whispering into his ear. "Calm down, Merlin, I am here."

Slowly they parted from each other, coming face-to-face. The last two words needed to be said remained.

"I love you, Arthur," Merlin said, purified from all the fears in his voice.

And those two words completely destroyed all the darkness in the room. Arthur smiled with a happiness greater than he had ever experienced in his life. Reaching out, he kissed the tears on Merlin's cheeks, kissed his eyelids. Finally, when his lips met Merlin's lips, Arthur could swear upon everything that he was the happiest man in the world.

Months, nearly a year had passed since that night. From the outside, Camelot looked as proud and calm as ever, but in the heart of the castle, in those dimly lit rooms, time had flowed much faster and much warmer. Merlin and Arthur had become inseparable after that great night of confession. During those long months they spent together, Merlin told Arthur everything he remembered from the very first day, explaining one by one the hidden history behind the foundation stones of the kingdom.

Every new piece of information was a separate shockwave for Arthur. Arthur was literally horrified when he learned that Merlin was the famous Emrys mentioned in ancient prophecies; it turned his mind upside down that the most powerful sorcerer, who carried the destiny of Camelot on his shoulders, was this lean, sexy, sensual, seductive, and handsome man who entered his room every morning to polish his boots. But what shook and saddened Arthur the most was not the moment he learned that Merlin was the last Dragon Lord and how he had released the legendary dragon Kilgharrah from the dungeons beneath the castle; it was the silent tears leaking from Merlin's eyes as he described that night when he lost his biological father, Balinor, in his arms just as he had found him. Arthur inwardly never forgave himself for failing to protect Merlin that night, and for brushing off his immense pain as merely a servant's grief.

Of course, not everything was about drama; when those famous prophecies and the legend of the "Two-Sided Coin" came into play, Arthur’s familiar, grumpy royal pride showed itself once again.

"So now," Arthur had said one evening, crossing his arms over his chest and darting a sharp look at Merlin. "Did you only take an interest in me because of those stupid prophecies... What was it, that 'Once and Future King' rubbish? Did you get close to me just because of that legend?"

Merlin left the parchments in his hand on the table and rolled his eyes. "Arthur, you are truly a complete idiot. If it were only because of the prophecy, I would have turned you into a frog after the first porcelain pot you threw at me and returned to my village. My putting up with you has nothing to do with the legend, get that into your thick head."

Although Arthur secretly loved this answer, he soured his face and muttered, "I wonder if being insulted by my servant is also included in this legend?"

When it came to the matter of the laws... No matter how in love or how grateful Arthur was, he could not abolish the twenty-year-old laws of Camelot overnight just because Merlin was a sorcerer, saying, "Come on, magic is free tomorrow!" That was not how kingdoms operated; it was contrary to logic and order. Besides, ever since Arthur ascended the throne after his father's death, he no longer looked at magic with such blind hatred. He had already stopped the torture of innocent people and the slaughter of healers under the name of witch hunts. But completely eliminating that heaviest clause in the law books—the death penalty given to magic users—was nearly impossible because of that stubborn Privy Council consisting of nobles.

There was no trouble regarding the knights; Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and the others were loyal to Arthur’s every decision and already loved Merlin like their own brother. However, the Council was clinging to the bloody legacy of the old king, Uther, with their teeth and nails. Arthur had been dealing with these stubborn old men for months, trying to convince them by slowly presenting new clauses at every meeting.

It was the night of another such long and tiring day. The fire in the fireplace of the royal chamber was burning with a slow crackle, filling the room with a dim, orange light. The top of the table was crowded with the legal codes of Camelot that they were trying to revise, parchments, and inkwells. Merlin was sitting at one end of the table, organizing certain criteria with the quill in his hand, trying to find legal loopholes that the Council could not object to. His hair was a complete mess, and an ink stain had smudged all the way down to his cheek.

As for Arthur, he was sunk into his large chair behind the table, watching Merlin while gently swirling the wine glass in his hand. There was a deep exhaustion in his eyes, but at the same time, a tremendous peace.

"These old men are going to drive me mad," Arthur murmured, taking a sip from his glass. "Today, Lord Godwin put those old decrees from my father's period in front of me again. They think the walls of the kingdom will crumble or something if we abolish the death penalty."

Without lifting his head, Merlin continued to write something on the parchment. "They are just afraid, Arthur. They were fed with a single story for years. But you have to abolish the execution. Having people's heads chopped off just because of a talent inside them, even if they haven't committed a crime... This is injustice."

"I know," Arthur said, his voice suddenly turning serious. He stood up and came over to the table with heavy steps. Standing behind Merlin, he placed his hands on his shoulders and began to gently rub the tensed muscles with his fingers. "Even if it is just for this reason, I will change that law. Not just to protect you, but for the future of this kingdom."

Merlin tilted his head backward and looked up at Arthur’s face, a warm smile appearing on his lips. "I know, you are becoming a wonderful king."

Grinning, Arthur ruffled Merlin’s hair. "You still haven't managed to be a better servant than me, though, that is separate."

At that moment, Arthur’s eye caught the carved wooden drawer beneath the table. The drawer had been left slightly ajar. Inside, he saw a shimmering, silvery piece of cloth. Reaching out with curiosity, he opened the drawer completely and pulled the object out.

These were the two silver and gold-leafed masks that they had not touched for months—the ones that had started everything.

As Arthur turned the mask over in his hand, the smile on Merlin's face froze instantly. A faint blush spread across his cheeks. Those masks were the symbols of all those secret games between them, of those ambitious and daring nights.

"Well, look at this," Arthur said, his voice suddenly taking on that flirtatious, mocking tone. He brought the Silver Mask closer to Merlin’s face. "Our famous stranger is here. You know, that mysterious lover who was afraid to even make a sound in bed, but who rained commands down on me."

Merlin quickly tried to take the mask from Arthur’s hand, but Arthur raised his hand up, not allowing it. "Give that back, Arthur, it is not funny."

"Why? Are you embarrassed?" Arthur held the mask to his own face, fixing his eyes on Merlin as he imitated the voice of the man in that mask: "Don't stop, I beg of you, don't stop, my lord..." He had added the "my lord" part himself.

Arthur tossed the mask onto the table and took a step toward Merlin, the arrogant, challenging smile on his lips completely stoking that familiar dynamic of the old days. "Scoundrel? My servant is insulting me again. Let me remind you, Merlin, that 'scoundrel' did not see you complaining at all when he threw you onto the bed in that room that night."

"Because back then, I forgot what an unbearable, stupid king you are and believed in the man behind that mask!" Merlin snapped back, his chest rising and falling with anger, but the fire of desire in his eyes had already begun to burn. "You are a complete animal, Arthur."

"Am I?" Arthur grabbed Merlin by his waist and pushed him sharply against the edge of the table. A few empty sheets of parchment on the table scattered to the floor. "Then why did you hold onto that animal so tightly that night, Merlin? Why did you ride on top of him with pleasure, Merlin?"

"Because we had made a treaty with that animal!" Merlin shouted, but his voice was trembling this time. Their banter and those sweet arguments between them had always been their greatest aphrodisiac.

Arthur could not endure any longer with this outburst from Merlin. "I love you, you idiot," he whispered and pressed his lips against Merlin's.

This kiss was a submission that was highly ambitious and impatient due to the high tension brought by the previous war of words, but it held a deep tenderness inside. When Arthur gripped Merlin's waist and lifted him slightly toward the table behind him, several sheets of parchment and quills scattered to the floor with a loud noise. The drafts of laws that would determine the fate of Camelot were now being crushed under two bodies that desperately desired each other.

When Arthur seated Merlin completely on the edge of the table, Merlin wrapped his legs around Arthur’s hips by reflex. His hands had slid into Arthur’s blonde hair, pulling him even harder toward himself. Arthur’s lips were demanding, as if wanting to memorize every single spot inside Merlin’s mouth. When they parted, both of them were breathless; their breaths were colliding against each other's faces.

"Arthur..." Merlin murmured, his voice being a surrender rather than a protest.

Arthur did not answer. With his large, calloused hands, he began to untie the strings of Merlin’s thin linen shirt one by one, taking care not to tear the fabric but acting with haste. When the cloth parted to both sides, the orange glow of the fireplace illuminated Merlin’s pale skin and the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage. Arthur reached out and pressed his lips against Merlin’s collarbone. From there, he moved upward toward that hollow of the neck that was always hidden by a red neckerchief, leaving wet, burning kisses. As Merlin threw his head back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, Arthur felt the body beneath him tremble slightly. This was Merlin’s most vulnerable, most favored state.

Arthur did not rush as he took his hands to the tie of Merlin’s trousers and completely stripped him and his own undergarments off over the table. Those grumpy insults between them had now left their place to deep, muffled breaths. When Merlin’s back rested against the cold wood of the table, Arthur lifted his legs gently toward his shoulders. Merlin’s bare skin was shimmering in the light of the fireplace; while those old scars on his back rubbed against the smooth surface of the table, Merlin squeezed Arthur’s shoulders with that familiar impatience inside him.

Arthur reached out and took the scented massage oil that Gaius had prepared for the physician's quarters, which was standing in a small bowl at the edge of the table. When he slowly directed the liquid he poured onto his fingers between Merlin’s thighs, to that most sensitive, tightest point, Merlin took a deep breath and lifted his hips upward. While Arthur’s fingers slowly and patiently made space inside, Merlin buried his head in Arthur’s neck. He dug his teeth into the skin of Arthur’s shoulder, as if wanting to hide his groan.

"Hurry..." Merlin whispered, his voice muffled as if he were in pain, but equally begging.

Arthur smiled slightly in response to this impatience of Merlin. Pulling his fingers out, he pressed his hardness against Merlin’s wet, warm entrance. He looked into Merlin’s eyes; into those shining blue eyes that were wet like moonlight. When Merlin’s hands tightly gripped the muscles on Arthur’s chest, Arthur pushed his hips forward and buried himself inside Merlin with a single slow, smooth move.

A loud, sharp groan broke from Merlin’s throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his entire body went rigid with this massive feeling of fullness he received. Knowing his process of adapting, Arthur waited for a while without moving at all, staying completely inside Merlin. He rested his forehead against Merlin’s forehead.

"Are you all right? My stupid lover..." he whispered, his voice trembling with affection.

Merlin opened his eyes, and a slight, trembling smile appeared on his lips. "I am fine... Just move already, Arthur."

Wrapping Merlin’s legs more tightly around his waist, Arthur began to move on the table with slow but deep thrusts. With each of his pushes, the wooden legs of the table creaked, and the parchments on the floor were crushed under their feet. To avoid hitting his head against the table with each of Arthur’s deep strokes, Merlin held onto Arthur’s neck even more tightly. As the wave of desire inside him grew, his groans echoed against the dim walls of the room.

Arthur’s movements gradually gained rhythm, and he began to hit deep, right at that vital point, with an ambitious angle that wouldn't hurt Merlin. With the intense pleasure he received, Merlin pushed his hips toward each stroke of Arthur, almost melting inside him. While Arthur sucked and pulled at the hardened tips on Merlin’s chest, Merlin’s hands were clawing the muscles on Arthur’s back wildly.

At that moment, neither the prophecies, nor the kingdom, nor that stubborn Council outside mattered. On top of the table, right in the middle of all that formality, there was only that unshakeable, wild yet protective love the two men felt for each other.

As they neared the peak, Arthur’s breaths became completely short. When he felt the inner walls of Merlin squeezing him wildly, he accelerated his movements even more, pinning Merlin completely to the table with a few final sharp and deep thrusts. While Merlin cried out Arthur’s name loudly and released his own whiteness toward Arthur’s chest, Arthur also emptied his warmth deep inside Merlin, into his very core, with a deep groan.

When their bodies collapsed onto each other, only their irregular, heavy breathing sounds were heard in the room. Without completely lifting himself off Merlin, giving his weight to his elbows, Arthur looked at his face. Merlin’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was stuck to his forehead.

Slowly pulling out of him, Arthur gathered Merlin in his arms from the top of the table and carried him to that large, soft bed in the room, without caring about the clothes or papers on the floor. When both of them slipped between the sheets, Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s bare waist, pulling him completely against his chest. Merlin placed his head over Arthur’s heartbeat, his fingers still trembling.

For a while, they just lay there silently, feeling the skin warmth of each other. Merlin was just about to close his eyes and leave himself to the sweet arms of sleep when Arthur’s muffled voice broke the silence.

"Tomorrow," Arthur said, his voice filled with an unshakeable determination. "Tomorrow morning, I am assembling the Council."

Merlin lifted his head slightly and looked at his chin. "More law drafts again?"

Arthur smiled, slowly running his hand over those scars on Merlin’s back. "No. The drafts are finished, Merlin. Tomorrow morning, I am signing the decree that completely abolishes the death penalty given to magic users. I don't care what the Council thinks or how much they oppose it. It goes into effect tomorrow."

Merlin froze completely with the words he heard. His eyes opened with surprise, and his heart rate suddenly accelerated. Hearing that Arthur’s secret war with the Council for months would end with a single signature to protect himself and thousands of innocents in the kingdom filled his chest with an immense gratitude.

Merlin couldn't say anything. He just reached out and landed a deep, affectionate, and this time completely peaceful kiss on Arthur’s lips. When he put his head back onto his chest, he felt for the first time that the sky of Camelot was this free for him.